January 19, 2005
DRIVE, SHE SAID
There's a new site added to the Salad Bowl blogroll: Home Sweet Road. It's a site a friend of mine, Scott, created to document the weeks leading up to a 365-day road trip with his wife, Eileen, as well as the entire journey. And, I expect, a little post-trip reflection as well.
They're T-minus 167 days and counting until departure, by the way.
Both have a wonderful writing style and are introspective about their mission without descending into the bowels of navel-gazing. They share the kinds of thoughts any one of us would have if we went on such a journey of self discovery.
Take this recent passage:
The Curse of 1492
A week ago I headed to New York on a business trip with my good friend, Joe. Our mission was to hang out in gourmet grocery stores and visit a chocolate factory (and to shoot a little video in both places). Yes, it is a hardscrabble life.We took the 7 p.m. train out of Union Station. Once our tickets had been punched and we'd settled in for the journey, Joe leaned over and shot me a puzzled glance. "So what are you going to do on the road for a year?" To me, the answer was obvious: anything and everything. But I noted a glint of skepticism in Joe's eyes, and it rattled me. So I attempted to defend our decision to leave behind our friends, families, and careers, but it was not a particularly convincing defense--not to Joe, or even to me, and I'm the one taking the damn trip.
As the train rumbled past the ghostly silhouette of Baltimore, Joe kept after me. "I took a trip like yours, for six weeks, and by the end I'd had enough," he said. He paused and I could see he was reliving the experience. "I wish I had been born a few centuries ago. Back then you could really discover something new. You could walk on land that no on had walked on or write a book about a place no one knew existed. But today, well, we've got the Internet, GPS, satellite maps. You can learn everything about the world without leaving your computer. There's nothing left to discover."
"You don't need to plant a flag in polar ice cap to discover something new," I countered. Then, seeking some validation I added, "Right?"
But Joe wasn't buying. He merely responded with a skeptical grin that said, "I don't really get you, but I do enjoy trying."
I sunk back in my seat, still defiant, but experiencing doubts for the first time. Joe's words had cast our adventure in an entirely different light. Perhaps this trip was a silly indulgence, an exercise in "art" that was little more than an excuse to slip the stultifying rhythms of daily life. Maybe it has all been done before.
No, a little voice in my head protested. No! I reject that way of thinking. We may not discover rivers or flora or mountains, but we will discover plenty. Because while countless others have combed America with the same basic intent, we have't. You've never seen America through our eyes, nor we through yours, and there's beauty--and discovery--in that.
Yes, we will discover something new. We will linger where others stop only for fuel. We will peer into the shattered windows of abandoned stores, kick up dust in forgotten doorways, and venture into dark and forbidding alleys. It's not the Northwest Passage, granted; it is our passage.